Savour
by blood-songs
Summary: "What's the matter, Thor?" His voice is goading. "Can't handle a little heat?" Written for the prompt: body shots, and a bar.


Loki rubs a thumb over the salted rim of his glass, scowling and trying not to wince every time he shifts in his seat, echoes of pain shooting up his arms and legs. The bruises the Avengers had left on him from their last clash prickle unpleasantly; he takes a swig and continues to scowl and glare at everybody else who so much as shot a glance his way in the bar. He doesn't mind the bartender, though, a bitter-looking fellow with heavy eyebrows who glares right back at him and refills his glass (and small bowl of lime wedges) each time he finishes his tequila without comment.

Loki likes the bartender. He's about to use some seidr to trip a sullen girl who's giving him dirty looks for a lark when he hears a familiar voice rumble from behind him. "So apparently on Midgard, etiquette dictates that I have to request for your permission so that I may buy a beverage for you." What was Thor doing here? "Not the time, not the place, and most definitely not the person. Leave, Thor. I was here first. Or as they say on Midgard, kindly fuck off."

Thor laughs; his wide smile doesn't reach his eyes, doesn't match the tired line of his shoulders, low and weary. "I've only just gotten here, and you would have me leave? That's rude of you. I managed to track you with Stark's cameras." "Voyeur. This isn't my establishment and I can't force you to go, no, but I assure you that I have no desire of your trying company whatsoever." Loki takes another sip, enjoying the hook and burn of the alcohol down his throat. He's always liked drinking, even if he didn't partake in it on Asgard in the boisterous manner other Asgardians adopted.

Something occurs to him, and he turns to Thor with dark humour in his smirk. "You do know this is a place of sorts where men drink with and choose to tumble with other men, where women prefer the softer and seductive company of their own kind?" He's a little surprised when Thor just looks coolly around the gay bar, a sweeping gaze that touches lightly on the writhing bodies on the edge of the dance floor and the couples intertwined in the shadowed corners before meeting Loki's eyes. If he's discomfited, he doesn't show it, not much. "What of it?" Annoyed, Loki tries a different tack for the sheer hell of it. He slides back to rest his elbows against the edge of the bar and turns around fully to face Thor, crossing his long legs on the stool. "So I'm saying," he says slowly, wicked, dropping his voice so that Thor has no choice but to lean in to hear him, "You'd like to fall into depravity with the rest of us, tonight?" An idea flaring in his mind, he crooks a finger down Thor's handsome collared shirt — no doubt something that ridiculous and arrogant Stark had acquired for him — and pulls him down. "With me, hmm?"

Thor starts, jerking almost reflexively away from him, and Loki feels the sweet curl of triumph in his chest when confusion flits over Thor's face, eyes wide. Loki slides his fingers, whisper-cold from the glass against the warmth of Thor's skin, and has the pleasure of hearing Thor's breath hitch. "What's the matter, Thor?" His voice is goading. "Can't handle a little heat?"

Loki isn't really sure what he wants from Thor like this, hot and heavy and near. He presses down firmly against Thor, resting his thumb over Thor's thudding pulse, watches in fascination as Thor swallows. Loki smiles, hair falling into his eyes.

He's thought about it, through the years. Out of curiosity, initially, wondering how things would have unfolded if they'd moved a little slower, tangled together a little messier during their sparring on Asgard. Loki's imagined Thor's skin on his, battle-slick and eager fire, thought about what kissing his brother would be like.

As a young man, books made him hunger to discover the mysteries of the flesh, the taste of another against his lips. Loki's taken many lovers in different worlds, but he'll always remember Thor as his first burning dream, striking him sharp with want and longing when he closed his eyes and imagined Thor's rough stubble against his thighs, those blue eyes hot with intent.

The way Thor is reacting to him now snatches his breath from him — had Thor wondered about Loki the same way? Thinking Loki a fantasy, a pale shadow beneath him, moving against Thor unlike any maiden he's ever bedded, rough and untamable? Perhaps he'd even imagined Loki taking him, nudging him open with oil-slicked fingers, taking Thor from behind as he gripped so hard at sheets they'd tear.

Loki looks up at Thor from beneath his lashes, knows his eyes are even more startingly green from this angle, and he laughs, husky. Thor just stays there, seemingly frozen, before he pulls Loki's questing fingers away from his throat. Everything's moving slowly, as if a dream; perhaps the drink is getting to him, then, because Loki's feeling pleasantly light-headed and he doesn't want to stop smiling.

He's so distracted that it throws him completely off when Thor, never breaking eye contact with Loki, takes a step closer and takes two of Loki's fingers in his mouth.

Hissing sharply in shock, Loki feels a spike of arousal so great he's almost dizzy. Thor's drawing teeth gently over his fingers, his hot tongue filthy against his skin before Thor mouths off his fingers with a soft wet sound, looking amused and uncertain both. "I can take whatever challenges you might want to set for me, Liesmith," Thor murmurs, and his breath is hot against Loki's fingers which are still resting against his lips, damn him. "Can you say the same of yourself?"

Loki almost snarls at the provocation, his hackles rising, but he won't rise to Thor's baiting him. He brushes the rim of his tequila glass, rubbing the salt between the pads of his fingers. "Prove it," he says instead, and presses his thumb to the edge of Thor's mouth, pushing boldly into Thor's space, grazing his legs.

Thor licks at the salt on his fingers and shifts back, a delicious grind that makes Loki shiver. The way he moves against Loki next is a determined slide; there are no questions in the stutter of his hips as he inches Loki closer to the bar, nudging him back so that Loki's almost splayed over the table, neck bared. There are people watching them, murmurs of interest stirring in the background, but Loki's focused on Thor above him, wanting him. He has no doubt now that Thor wants him as he does Thor, that the aching want he feels is mirrored in his not-brother's eyes.

This is unexpected. Something shifts inside him, tilting his world dangerously, making him reckless.

Reaching out with his free hand, he takes his small glass and lifts it to Thor as if in a toast before tipping it gently so that it falls on his skin. "Drink it off me," he drawls, grinning madly now at Thor's gobsmacked expression, enjoying the way Thor's gaze falls to the tequila trickling down the long line of his neck. It's such wonderful debauchery, this little game that Midgardians play with their drinks.

"Then, bite the lime," Loki adds as an afterthought, holding up the small lime wedge for Thor to see before putting it back in the small bowl.

Thor doesn't reply, just leans down, breath hot and unbearably close against the wetness there. Loki feels his heart slow to a stop, impossibly, right before Thor flicks out his tongue, tracing a short path to the dip and hollow of his neck. Agonisingly long seconds crawl by as Thor's lips just linger there, trembling, and then Thor's pressing open-mouthed kisses up to Loki's jaw, nosing the softness beneath his ear, moving down to lap up the tequila pooling near his collarbone.

Loki arches against Thor, a muted curve, and then Thor growls before he sucks, hard, teasing skin between his teeth and laving at the bruise like a lover's whisper. He tilts his head this way and then that as Thor forgets about the dare, forgets about the tequila and continues to kiss down Loki's jaw and neck, marking him like Loki is his.

(Perhaps Loki always has been.)

He leans further back against the table, grateful that the corner is empty and that he won't be knocking anyone else's glasses over, and then Thor pushes him down to the cold black surface before curling a hand around Loki's leg, lifting it up. Loki snorts, hooking his leg around Thor's waist, and then he's twisting his fingers into Thor's hair to keep him in place, right there.

"Hey," he says softly, after a fashion, moans fading into the darkness of their side of the bar. "The lime."

"Right." Thor's distracted, eyes a glazed blue when he pulls back, looking around them for the bowl with the last wedge in it. When he doesn't find it, he turns to Loki with a frown on his face that abruptly stills when Loki smirks at him, the lime wedge between his teeth.

Loki raises an elegant eyebrow, mouthing, "Come on." He's giddy and intoxicated and he wants Thor any way he can get him.

Thor rolls his eyes, but he's smiling now too, something soft in the lines of his face. When the edges of their lips meet, just a little shy, Loki turns away from Thor to place the wedge back in a bowl before he kisses Thor properly in earnest, sighing into his mouth.

"Do you want this?" He asks when they part minutes later, still kissing at necks and the gentle curves of ears like they can't get enough.

"I've never wanted anything more," Thor answers, rough and honest, and something warm and fierce flares within Loki at his words.

Laughing, Loki winks at him, untangling their limbs and sliding off the stool. "Come then," he says, voice sultry, moving away from the bar. He doesn't look back, because he knows Thor will follow. "Come and get me."

He leans against the wall near the door after he enters the bathroom, taking in a shuddering breath when he palms himself lightly through his jeans. The door creaks and the lock clicks into place, loud in the empty silence.

When Thor shoves and pins him against the wall, body flush against his, Loki smiles and takes it all.


End file.
